


A Royal Garden Party

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Military Kink, Semi-Public Sex, garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: Sherlock is invited to a garden party at the Palace, but John has to go to extreme measures to convince him to attend, this may or may not include taking advantage of Sherlock's fondness for John in uniform (aka Sherlocks raging military kink).





	A Royal Garden Party

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Sherlock Challenge April 2019 prompt: Garden, unfortunately finished almost a week late.

“No! I’m not going. You can’t make me.” Sherlock hit the screen of his phone to hang up the call and then threw it to the far side of the sofa and glared at it.

John grinned at his husband over the top of his newspaper, “Who wants you to go where?”

“Urgh, Mycroft. Wants me to go to the Queen’s garden party. Ridiculous.”

“The Queen? You mean the Queen Queen? The Queen's garden party? At Buckingham Palace? And you said no?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said in his most sarcastic tone, “No John, its Freddie Mercury, back from the dead, and inviting me to a BBQ in his back garden. Of course it’s the ‘Queen Queen'. And I’m not going.”

John huffed in exasperation, “Why are you invited anyway? That case you took for them was years ago.”

Sherlock retrieved his phone, now that it was no longer contaminated by Mycroft’s voice and put it into his pocket on his way to the kitchen, “I stopped an assassination attempt on good Queen Lizzie, now I wish I hadn’t bothered if they are going to make all this fuss.” He disappeared around the corner leaving John sitting with his mouth hanging open.

When John heard the fridge open and the kettle click on it became clear that Sherlock wasn’t going to come out of the kitchen again any time soon so he followed him and found him making sandwiches and tea. “When? When did you stop an assassination attempt?”

Sherlock didn’t even stop buttering the bread, “Oh, the other week. When you went to the pub with Lestrade to watch football. Mycroft sent me some files, they knew something was brewing but couldn’t figure out who the inside man was. Idiots. Once they had him the whole plot fell apart.”

“You didn’t think to tell me when I got back?”

“No, no. It was boring. Barely a three. I only did it because Mycroft promised to get me out of taking Mummy to the theatre, and now he’s trying to make me attend a _party_ instead. I’d have rather gone to the theatre. At least I can fall asleep there, and I can be as rude to Mummy as I like and she just laughs. I doubt Mycroft will let me be rude to the Queen.”

John should have been used to this kind of thing by now, after all of these years, but still he had to take a moment to process. He sat at the table and accepted the sandwich and tea that Sherlock handed him wordlessly. Only after he had eaten half of the food did he manage to say anything else. “I think you should go.”

Sherlock tried to interrupt but John held up a hand to stop him, “No, listen. You want me to stop working at the clinic so much, so you need more paying clients. Last time we couldn’t tell anyone that you worked for the Palace, but surely you can talk about this. We get a photo of you and the Queen to put on your website, hopefully get a few newspaper articles, and I’m sure we would be able to put one of those ‘by royal appointment’ things on there. You’ll have work flooding in from all the wealthy clients you could want.”

“With boring cases that a child could solve. No. I don’t need a photo anyway, you can just tell people in your blog.”

John was just about to give up trying to persuade Sherlock to go, when the next surprise was dropped.

“If we did go, Mycroft said I have to wear a tie. I didn’t even wear a tie to our wedding, and you are much more important than the Queen.”

“Wait a minute, ‘we’, you said ‘we’. Am I invited too?”

“Mycroft said the invite is to Mr William Sherlock Scott Holmes and partner.” Sherlock replied around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

John smiled, he knew exactly how to get Sherlock to go.

**

  
Four weeks later Sherlock arrived at the palace, dressed in his finest suit, complete with a silver and blue floral tie and cufflinks at his wrists, and looking with naked lust at the man on his arm; his husband, Captain John Hamish Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, wearing full dress uniform and medals.  
Once through all of the security checks and greetings they managed to avoid meeting up with Mycroft as he had wanted them to do as soon as they arrived. Instead they made their way into the grounds of the palace and rather than mingling with the other attendees, or investigating the buffet table, they set off to explore the gardens.

“Come on John, you know what that uniform does to me.”

John trailed behind Sherlock shaking his head fondly as his genius/idiot husband began searching the bushes for the perfect spot. Eventually in the furthest corner of the grounds Sherlock found what he was looking for, and dragged John into the bushes with him.

John found himself in a tiny space between two bushes and a tree trunk, barely large enough for the two of them to stand. Fortunately it had been a dry few weeks, or their shoes would have been caked with mud. Once satisfied that they couldn’t bee seen by a casual observer John turned his attention to Sherlock.

“You’ve been looking forward to this, haven’t you Private?”

Sherlock shivered, “Yes, Captain.” In his jacket pocket his phone vibrated, and was totally ignored.

John smiled and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, “OK, we have to be quick, and very very quiet. Understand?”

Sherlock nodded vigorous with wide eyes.

“Turn around.” John said, his voice only just above a whisper, but the command in it clear.

Sherlock spun around instantly and put his hands on the tree trunk, tilting his pelvis up invitingly.

John made short work of the fastening on Sherlock’s trousers and soon had them and his pants down around his knees, and then swiftly did the same with his own clothing. Sherlock’s jacket vibrated again, and again was ignored by both men.

It was the work of a moment for John to pull a condom and small tube of lube from next to the vibrating phone in his own jacket pocket, and then to put them to their appropriate uses.

  
He spared but a few seconds to fondle Sherlock’s naked arse, then briefly checked that Sherlock had followed his instructions before leaving the flat, and plunged inside in one slick glide.

  
The speed of it drew a grunt out of Sherlock and John quickly admonished him with a growl of “Quiet!”

  
An observer from outside of the bushes during the next few minutes would have seen the bushes shaking, and the small tree rising above them in the centre swaying backwards and forwards increasingly rapidly. They would have heard the rustling of leaves and twigs, and bitten off cries, gasps and grunts, along with, if they listened very carefully, some whispered orders to keep still, be quiet and ‘be a good little soldier and take what your Captain gives you’. All of which culminated in a very small whimper, a sound that, if you happened to have a very good imagination you could believe would have been louder if the mouth making said sound hadn’t been very firmly covered by a hand; followed by a slightly louder grunting sound. Then all was silent.

  
Unfortunately the observer from outside of the bushes, rather than being imaginary, took the shape of one apoplectic older brother, who was only prevented from stopping the two men in the shrubbery before they reached their happy conclusion by the terrifying prospect that in order to do so without shouting, and drawing attention to the goings on, he would most likely have had to actually enter the undergrowth, both causing unknown damage to his tailoring, and also unknown damage to his optic nerves at the sight he may have seen.

As soon as Mycroft was certain that the _activities_ had finished he hissed through gritted teeth. “Sherlock Holmes! Get your trousers on and get out here right now!”

The ensuing giggling only added to the tension in Mycroft’s spine, and made a vein in his forehead pulse threatening.

When the two men emerged from the shrubbery looking slightly rumpled Sherlock grinned and taunted his brother, “I knew you were a voyeur, but this is taking it to another level brother dear.”

Mycroft somehow managed to simultaneously shout and whisper at the same time, “These are the Royal Gardens, every inch of these grounds is covered by CCTV, that even I do not have the authority to turn off. I thought I could expect better of you John.”

John managed to wipe the grin off of his face enough to look momentarily sheepish, but he couldn’t keep it away for more than a few seconds. “It was the only way to get him here, you know he hates these things. Look, he even wore a tie.”

Mycroft stared in horror at the crooked and creased tie hanging from his brother's collar as an entirely unwanted deduction about it having been used to hold his brother in place popped into his mind. He shuddered dramatically and turned away to stomp back to the party. “Remove that monstrosity right now and follow me. Her Majesty wants to thank you personally, and then you are leaving! And I will be ensuring that you are never invited to the Palace again.”

Sherlock removed the offending tie and very happily threw it under a bush and then grinned triumphantly at John as they trailed behind Mycroft, picking leaves out of each others hair as they went.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Don't be shy, feel free to leave a comment :-)


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